the father reads Harry Potter to us
a chapter a night

as a bookmark he uses an old photograph of me, the mother
taken with a disposable on a Sunday years ago

I need a picture of me with the bridge
the mother had said to the Australian girl taking the photo
and she had thought of you, my child
of how she would tell you years later
about your mother, not a mother yet, still in between woman and child
about your mother on a Scottish Harry Potter bridge tour
as an imposter, not there for the bridge and the lake
or stills from movies she had never seen based on books she had never read
the mother did not care about Harry, she was there
for the waterfalls and hikes and hills the colour of hot sun on skin

the mother did not need that Potter bridge picture
as a tribute to this Harry, this boy she did not know
no – this very picture was taken
to prove to you later

along with the story of the journey home:
the mother plugging in earphones
trying her best to keep the Harry movie, playing loudly in the bus
trying to keep the story, the spoilers, the characters out
in order to save her first time
for later, for together with her child

the mother got nauseous, as always when in a bus with closed eyes
oh boy your mother got so nauseous for you
decades before hormones and pregnant

this picture was taken for you
to prove to you later:
love will be there
it was there years before you
it was there in her saving Harry
in her preparing to share
her first time with you

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